in the city you can cast two shadows, falling apart in the summer sun.

eleven swans a sleeping.

balloons on a balmy/hot evening, drifting in a ragged line across the city skyline. they startle the birds who drift and whirl in a dark mass above the waste ground and offices just out of the centre, by the river. despite their silence and lack of mass, the vastness of the canvas balls disturbs the skydwellers. they settle as the last passes.

the man with the dog says hello, and i return the greeting. the man at the end of the road is held up by a frame and wearing no clothes except some shorts, or maybe underwear. his old frame addresses me, how am i? alright, the shouted reply. and you? i turn the corner as he replies, hurrying away despite the fact he couldn't catch me if he tried.

thoughts garnerned during the short walks for food, lost during the consumption. maybe i should stop and write them on the packaging, and keep it for scanning. "just open up a jooky. it's a party on a can."

sometimes i wonder why strangers don't speak. i knew then.